


In Hell

by Moonlitdark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lapdance, M/M, Persistent Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Stripper Harry, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlitdark/pseuds/Moonlitdark
Summary: Music thumped within the spacious, dark room as a bright spotlight swept across the crowd, highlighting a familiar head. The shocked expression directed towards him altered Harry’s practised lustful expression into a wide, wicked grin. Harry spun, slid both palms down his partially leather-clad buttocks and bent deep, spreading his legs and cheeks to give the men in the front row a clear sight of what lay between. Malfoy undoubtedly had a wonderful view.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted a long time ago on Livejournal. So if it seems familiar, you've probably read it before, but this version has a few edits.
> 
> I had an internal debate about whether or not to repost this story, since the premise seems quite a bit off the wall from the other things I've written. But I reread it after a gap of twelve years, edited much less than I thought I would and decided that if Harry wants to strip, I shouldn't be the one to stop him.
> 
> So, here's Stripper!Harry, Club owner!Snape and Client!Draco. Because, why not?

Harry had once despised dancing, but he’d found that something akin to gracefulness could be achieved if he forgot everything else. It was fun, and freeing in an odd sort of way. 

Predictably, his friends had reacted badly to the abrupt tangent in his chosen career path, but disapproval had only added to the appeal. There was no real risk, precautions assured that, but it was thrilling and unpredictable. The vocation suited Harry’s need to discard his past, lose the image of the hero and replace it with something else. The important people in his life had supported that original sentiment, but no-one had expected the result to be _this_. 

The Muggle songs were surprisingly popular. Music thumped within the spacious, dark room as a bright spotlight swept across the crowd, highlighting a familiar head. The shocked expression directed towards him altered Harry’s practised lustful expression into a wide, wicked grin. Harry spun, slid both palms down his partially leather-clad buttocks and bent deep, spreading his legs and cheeks to give the men in the front row a clear sight of what lay between. Malfoy undoubtedly had a wonderful view. Harry was going to be reprimanded for that overly explicit public display, but right now it wasn’t important. It was a shame that from this vantage point he couldn’t witness the effect on his intended audience, but knowing what he was doing was enough. 

Gleefully, Harry proceeded to the finale. Malfoy’s eyes widened. Very satisfying. 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry commenced an internal countdown from ten as he started to serenely sip his drink. He didn’t even get as far as six. 

Harry did, however, think that Bob, the trusty and over-protective bartender, was going to rip Malfoy’s arm off when his hand roughly gripped Harry’s shoulder and pulled him away from the bar. 

Several calming hand gestures from Harry later, and his rescuer had backed down. But Bob’s hostile glare didn’t drift from the scene as Harry shook himself free and reclaimed his tender shoulder. Thankfully, body oil did not provide a good hand hold. After wiping spilt tequila from his bare chest, Harry leaned back into the bar’s edge, giving himself essential distance but radiating an aura of unconcerned dismissal. He wondered if Malfoy was going to speak anytime soon. 

Unfortunately, he was. “You’re a _whore_ now?” 

Anyone would think that Malfoy actually cared. But Harry knew better. “Not exactly.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Bob granted Harry a refill of tequila but did not enquire as to whether Malfoy might want refreshment. Nodding his gratitude over the bar, Harry asked, “Why do you even give a shit?” 

Malfoy quirked his eyebrow; sarcasm was sure to follow. “Why am I concerned about this? Well, let me think… there are too many reasons to list. If I paid you, would you have sex with me?” 

Harry resisted the urge to laugh. “Is that an offer?” 

“Hardly.” 

Swallowing the pointless hurt, Harry replied with just a trace of venom, “Being a stripper doesn’t make me a whore.” 

“Well, let’s find out,” Malfoy muttered as his dipped a hand into his pocket. It emerged with a selection of coins which were promptly slammed atop the bar. “Here.” 

“What’s this?” 

“Money, Potter. For a dance. That _is_ your job… or have I misunderstood?” 

The evening was young enough to allow time for Harry’s amusement. “It is.” Harry scooped the coins into his palm and into the hidden compartment under his low-slung waistband where it instantly shrunk, leaving the smooth fit of the leather against his skin undisturbed. Magic was a beautiful thing. “Follow me. Touching isn’t allowed. Just to let you know in advance.” 

“I don’t want to touch you.” 

“You will,” Harry promised, striding ahead. 

Harry walked; the client followed. That was always the routine. Lead them to the room, seat them comfortably, and give them their money’s worth. The rules were clear: Harry could touch the client, but the client was forbidden from any physical contact with him. Harry had never envisioned performing for Malfoy, but this wouldn’t be the first ex-classmate he’d escorted into one of these rooms, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Besides, it had been several years since he had last seen his former adversary, and Harry was becoming increasingly curious to learn how similar this man was to the youth he’d known. Harry was greatly looking forward to showing Malfoy exactly what he was missing.

Indicating a lone padded but straight-backed wooden chair in the middle of an otherwise empty but comfortable room, Harry instructed, “Sit.” Malfoy sat. He didn’t appear especially comfortable. Assessing grey eyes scrutinised the environment, the gothic décor of red and black. It was always best to get straight to business. “Do you want anything in particular?” Harry enquired, standing a safe distance from the chair. 

“You take requests?” 

Harry shrugged. “It’s your money.” 

Malfoy sounded intrigued. “What type of requests?” 

“Hell is a quality establishment. We strive to give the customer what he wants. If you prefer a particular costume, attitude… that type of thing.” 

There was a long pause of silent contemplation before Malfoy responded, “I don’t want you to wear a costume.” 

“Well, what then?” 

Malfoy smirked. “Nothing. I want you to wear nothing at all.” 

“Naked?” Harry shouldn’t be surprised; Malfoy had never been known for his patience. “That’ll cost more.” 

“Not a problem, Potter.” 

“Okay. Be right back.” 

Harry didn’t make it to the concealed curtained area before Malfoy’s voice stopped him, low and commanding. “No. Strip here. I want to watch.” 

“Again, that’s a higher rate.” 

“ _Stripping_ is more expensive?” 

“Yes.” 

“What a fucking rip off,” Malfoy sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Just get on with it.” 

“Don’t you want to know the total price? There’s a list. It’s itemised.” 

“I’m certain that I can afford it.” Malfoy leaned back comfortably in the chair, gesturing for Harry to start. 

Harry didn’t rise to the bait; instead, he opted to pluck the leather cuff from his right wrist and toss it lightly in Malfoy’s direction. Malfoy didn’t flinch as the sharp, studded accessory flew past his head, ruffling the ends of his hair. The other cuff went the same way, followed by two fairly hefty, steel capped boots. Since he’d redressed in only the minimum of clothing after his public performance, there wasn’t much more left to remove. Now clad in only his black leather chaps, Harry paused, making Malfoy wait. 

It was only polite to offer other available options to a paying client. “Do you want music?” 

“Music?” 

“In the background, you know… set the mood. We have an extensive selection.” 

“The mood is already sleazy enough.” 

“You don’t need to be here.” 

“Oh, yes I do.” Malfoy chuckled, a teasing, rumbling sound. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

Harry didn’t think that had been a compliment. His hands came together to settle on his belt buckle, working unhurriedly to unclasp the metal. The glint in Malfoy’s eyes was not lost on Harry as he curled fingers around his waistband and began to push slowly downwards. A practiced twist and bend at the right moment ensured that Malfoy would have to wait a little longer to view more than Harry’s arse and legs fully revealed. Holding the pose just long enough to provide time for surveying his waxed crack, Harry straightened, arched his spine and stepped nimbly out of the pile of leather. Enjoying this as he was, he felt a pang of regret that there was no additional clothing to remove. He turned to face Malfoy.

For a few seconds, Malfoy appeared to have forgotten to breathe. Harry had decided to find that gratifying a moment before Malfoy slapped his thighs with two eager hands. 

“Don’t you sit on my lap?” Malfoy asked expectantly, spreading his legs slightly in what Harry thought was meant to be an inviting manner. Malfoy was not entirely mistaken about that. “Isn’t that customary?” 

Harry nodded, trying not to wonder how firm those thighs felt. 

“I can, but I put my clothes back on for that. And naturally, it’ll cost more.” 

“You really are shafting your customers, aren’t you? Maybe another time then.” 

The negative response was probably unrelated to the expense. Malfoy had plenty of capital to draw from. But then again, Harry didn’t work here for the money. 

He preferred dancing to music. Writhing without the aid of a beat felt awkward and more stilted than he’d like. But Malfoy wanted silence, so Harry obliged. It wasn’t long before Malfoy broke the quiet. Listening to the rasping pants from his audience, Harry wondered whether Malfoy was aware of the amount of noise he was making. The upholstery softly rustled whenever Malfoy shifted his position, usually coinciding with a tiny intake of Malfoy’s breath and a stroke of Harry’s hand along his own skin. But Harry didn’t bother to point anything out; it was hardly unusual in this situation. 

Dancing nearer, feeling mischievous, Harry stood just beyond Malfoy’s knees, facing him, swaying to an imaginary tune, letting his own interest in events grow clearly. It was also not unusual for Harry’s cock to perk on the job. When he danced, anyway. Malfoy’s interest had been obvious for some time through the black material of his trousers. Harry’s hand brushed the tip of his own erection, apparently accidentally as he danced, and as expected, Malfoy’s gaze immediately zoned in on the glistening head of Harry’s cock and didn’t move away. 

Lost in a sudden, dangerously confusing and conflicting thought, hips gyrating automatically, Harry leant too close. Malfoy’s arm rose, fingers outstretched before Harry had even registered that he should move out of range. The resulting shockwave threw Malfoy’s spine flush with the back of the chair. Alarmed eyes blinked upwards, squinting at Harry in incomprehension. 

“Safety clause,” Harry offered as an explanation, stopping his dance and stepping back to a wiser distance. The suspicious squint continued. “As a precaution. To protect employees, so clients can’t break the rules.” 

“Bloody hell.” 

“Painful, isn’t it?” smirked Harry. He was proud of his recently acquired smirk. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Malfoy retorted, but a subtle nursing of his punished hand on the cushion of his thigh betrayed him. Malfoy was looking slightly flushed. And intriguingly dishevelled. 

Abruptly, Harry announced, “I think your time is up.” 

Malfoy stared. “There’s a time limit?” 

“Of course. If you’d let me explain the price plan beforehand, you’d have known that. These things can’t go on forever, it’s not practical.” 

“But, I’m not…” 

“Satisfied, Malfoy? You go home for that. I’ll arrange for accounting to owl you an invoice for the outstanding amount. Discreetly, of course.” 

Harry didn’t wait for a response. Leaving his discarded garments where they lay, he smartly left through the staff exit, closing and locking the door in his wake to set about rebuilding his personal sense of calm. 

**** 

Harry knew he was in trouble before Snape even spoke. ‘Hell’ was an enormously lucrative club, but its owner stubbornly remained an extremely miserable man. Many people continued to remark that Snape’s recent venture was a peculiar choice for a previously esteemed Professor, but Snape appeared satisfied with his life, if not excessively content. Harry suspected that the absence of children within this environment may have provided a notable incentive. 

But Snape’s profession was probably no less strange than the current nightly occupation of the Wizarding World’s saviour, and even in the presence of an angry boss, it was always nice to attempt joviality. 

“Hi. You wanted to see me?” 

Snape diverted his attention from the paperwork on his desk to grant Harry a glower. That glower was always at home here, in this dark environment. 

“That hideous stunt on the dancefloor earlier was uncalled for.” 

Harry didn’t take his usual seat, preferring to remain close to the office door. “The audience didn’t seem to mind.” 

“There are, as you are aware, certain attributes which you are required to withhold. Otherwise, the tantalising temptation of a moment alone with you will lose its allure.” Ah… ‘The tantalising temptation of a moment alone’. Woe betide the person who messed with that tagline. “You may display whatever you or the client pleases within the privacy of a room with the proper payment. But I am also positive that you are aware of that fact.” 

“Sorry. I got carried away.” 

“Please ensure that the mistake is not repeated. Also, you will not be performing for Mr Malfoy in private again.” 

“Why not? He’s loaded, you know that. He’d be a great regular client.” 

Leaning back in his chair, Snape gained an improved position to scowl at Harry. Snape so loved to scowl. “And your past… history will not present an issue?” 

“Why should it?” 

“Hate can often be an interesting disguise or prelude to more… intimate activities.” 

Harry’s left eye twitched. Possibly from the lack of logic emanating from his employer or the remnants of eyeliner. He refused to acknowledge that it might be a reaction to any idea which Snape had evoked. Futile boyhood crushes were not worth wasting a lifetime over. Years at Hogwarts filled with countless, hateful exchanges had continuously reminded Harry that Malfoy was not a wise focus for his attraction. Therefore, Harry had sensibly ignored that attraction, at least outwardly. 

“But it’s not in this case. We got along fine tonight. There weren’t even any explosions.” 

Harry’s joke was obviously unappreciated. “Your school days were not so long ago.” 

They were, to Harry. And his new life allowed him leverage, a method to remain unaffected. “It’s okay. Really. You might as well make some money from him.” 

“And I shall. But it will not involve you.” 

Listening to the dull thump of music through the walls, Harry admitted, “I still don’t see what the problem is.” 

“There are many other clients who continue to require your attention.” 

“One more isn’t going to make any difference.” 

“I am your employer, Potter. Therefore, it is not essential for me to explain myself to you.” 

The surname. It was never a good indication when Snape resorted to that old habit. 

“But—” 

“I said _no_. If Mr Malfoy enters these premises again, another shall see to his needs. Now, go home.” Snape bent back to the paperwork, his curtain of black hair severing their eye contact, indicating that the conversation was over. 

Resigned, at least for the moment, Harry went home. 

**** 

“Ready to dance, Potter?” was the salutation that Harry received on Malfoy’s next visit, the possible herald for a little exhilaration after a few uneventful days.

Disregarding Snape’s warnings and recklessly grasping at the opportunity, Harry nodded and enquired, “What would you like tonight?” 

With a tiny hint of mocking, Malfoy replied, “Oh, more of the same will suffice. I imagine that your repertoire isn’t extensive.” 

That was fine, Harry could rise to mocking. “And your imagination I’m sure is sadly deficient.” 

“I’m simply trying to keep expectations at a low level which you can cope with. But then again, you _are_ a stripper now, so I suppose anything’s possible.” Malfoy haughtily levelled his gaze with Harry’s, issuing a tempting challenge. 

That haughtiness had always stirred up feelings of hatred within Harry, but also other, more dangerously lustful reactions. Those eyes, grey and searching and beautiful, had featured in Harry’s hopeful dreams many times; he had taken thrilling pleasure in envisioning how intently they might scrutinize him, heavy lidded in anticipation as they surveyed his body, approving of what they saw. Very similar, he suddenly realised, to what they were doing now. 

Harry strived to reply with casual banter. “Not anything, but a lot more than I’d thought.” 

Malfoy’s attention wandered much lower. While Harry remembered that Malfoy had already seen him naked, this penetrating gaze was much more exciting than before. Stepping forward, Harry indicated that Malfoy should follow. 

Falling into step beside him, Malfoy said, “Yes, your capacity for thought was always fairly limited.” Harry’s thoughts were not very limited at the moment, but his knowledge of Malfoy did not inspire Harry to admit that. “I would be interested in viewing that itemised list though Potter. Just to see what you’ve disillusioned yourself into believing that you're capable of.” 

“That can be arranged. I’ll get you a quill to check off the items that you’d—” 

Their progress was cut short by Snape’s black form blocking their route. 

Snape did not look pleased. “Harry, has our recent conversation been forgotten so soon?” 

Caught out, Harry had little to offer in his own defence, but Malfoy apparently had. “Is there a problem? I was just about to enter into what could possibly be a very entertaining business transaction.” 

A pang of despondency while listening to Malfoy’s summary was completely unfounded, but spiked in Harry’s gut nonetheless. 

Snape was unmoving. “Some people’s business is more welcome than other’s.” 

Malfoy’s smile was flawlessly polite. “Surely you have no objection, given that this is the purpose of your club?” 

Snape returned a much darker smile than Malfoy could ever hope to produce. “If this establishment is not meeting your requirements, the exit is clearly marked.” 

To Harry’s distinct regret, Malfoy stepped away from his side. “Yes, I can see that. But I think I’d prefer to stay for a while. There must be something else of interest to watch.” 

“I am positive that there is.” 

A strange look passed briefly between Snape and Malfoy, but Harry could not interpret the meaning and was diverted from analysing it further by being neatly ushered into Snape’s office. 

**** 

Several nights later, Harry spotted Malfoy lurking in the audience. Determined not to become distracted by more useless notions, Harry set about his job, worked hard, and ignored Malfoy’s presence. But of course, his peaceful evening was short lived. Catching sight of Malfoy sauntering towards him, Harry prepared for the inevitable. 

Malfoy looked relaxed and confident, dressed in a fine wool sweater and casual trousers, with blond hair hanging loosely over his temples. As he halted close by, Malfoy’s greeting actually resembled congeniality. “Hey, Potter.” 

The response was instant, but didn’t come from Harry as Snape immediately Apparated beside him. Did Snape have a bell on him? Or on Malfoy? Sighing, Harry didn’t voice the thought.

“Mr Malfoy.” 

This was becoming _very_ tedious. Really, Harry had better things to do than listen to the same conversation again. 

Malfoy matched Snape’s scowl. “I’ve just come over for a dance.” 

“And I have already informed -” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” muttered Harry, more viciously than he had meant to. But now that he’d started, he needed to speak his mind. “This is achieving nothing. It’s harassment within the workplace.” That might have been a tad of an overstatement, but as it was a rarity to be the cause of two Slytherins gawping in unison, Harry basked in it. Sustaining his momentum, he snapped at Snape, “Severus, you employed me to do a job, so you should leave me in peace to do it.” Switching his glower to Malfoy, Harry added, “And maybe I don’t even _want_ to dance for you.” 

The gawping was turning into indignation, from both parties. Realising that his burst of temper might have been uncalled for, but reluctant to apologise, Harry was about to excuse himself and leave them both to it. But, in an unpredicted move, Malfoy smoothly asked Snape, “Well, what else do you have to offer in here?” 

The upturned curve of Snape’s mouth was almost cheerful. The pinched set of Harry’s own mouth was probably not. 

“We can cater for a vast range of tastes.” 

Malfoy was not looking at Harry anymore. The grey eyes were entirely focussed on Snape. “I’m looking for something… different.” 

Harry was still furiously speculating the implications of that statement when Malfoy strode away to follow a suddenly eager and amenable Snape. 

Left behind, feeling peculiarly abandoned, Harry was mortified by his behaviour. Instead of fighting for what he wanted, he had pushed Malfoy away. But Harry was aware that what he wanted was just a dream; he could never trust Malfoy enough to live up to it. 

Harry occupied himself with going through the motions of work while searching for Malfoy and Snape amongst the crowd and staying close to the private rooms to keep lookout for their return. A short while later, Harry regretted his patience as he could only watch with frustration when Snape directed Malfoy towards a comfortable room. 

“Full payment in advance, Mr Malfoy. Rates are non-negotiable. Have a pleasurable experience.” Snape wandered back through the horde of customers.

Malfoy’s selection couldn’t have been more of a contrast to Harry. A redheaded male - stocky but trim, giggly and vacant, accompanied Malfoy into the room. Harry gaped. Malfoy didn’t even _like_ redheads; at least Harry had thought that after so many of Malfoy’s disparaging Weasley-related comments in the past. The nurse’s outfit was also a slight shock. 

Staring at the door, a detailed mental image of probable activities happening within the room formed in Harry’s mind. Incensed, he tried to reassure himself that he didn’t care. Why should he? Malfoy’s life was his own; nothing he did affected Harry. 

In need of a distraction, Harry scanned the crowd and soon saw that a straggler at the edge of a group of rowdy males was peering with interest in his direction. Resolved, Harry beckoned, pleased when the man broke away from the group. They always did. 

**** 

The next evening, Harry wandered through the club, past bustling waiters, barmen, and crowds of punters in the hope of indulging in a well-earned respite between performances. As he passed under an archway to enter a habitually quiet area, voices filtered across the room. Not shouting, but the exchanged tones were definitely hostile. And unmistakable. 

“…let you tell me what to do, Snape. Not again. That man last night wasn’t really to my taste. He’s not even a real redhead. You should check details like that more thoroughly. Trade descriptions, you know.” 

A hasty step brought Harry back beyond the arch to a safe vantage point where he could observe. 

“I had not realised the depth of your fascination with redheads. Maybe I should procure you another?” Snape ignored Malfoy’s snort. “But if all you want is the prettiest man to please you,” Snape replied, “there are plenty of others to choose from.” 

Malfoy was lounging by the wall in the far corner while Snape stood rigidly a few feet away. Neither looked very happy to be there. 

“Most of them are slightly sleazier than I prefer. Anyway, I still don’t know why you're getting so worked up about this. You don’t seem to mind when everyone else ogles him.” 

“Mr Potter is more trusting than I. You have hardly been a friendly acquaintance to him in the past, Mr Malfoy.” 

Malfoy’s attention never wavered from Snape, but despite Snape’s antagonistic posture, Malfoy’s stance was radically less confrontational, giving an impression of effortless and amused tolerance. 

“Cut the ‘Mr Malfoy’ crap. We both know that you’ll never respect me enough to really mean it. Potter’s a grown man, he has the right to make his own decisions. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent this without revealing yourself as the petty man you are. Is it rivalry… is that what it is? Too many Slytherins in the same territory?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am certain that many of the clientele emerged from that House. And let me remind you that I reserve the right to refuse entry to anyone I choose.” 

“That’s your solution? You're just going to ban me from your club? Well, that’s more childish than I’d expected. Severus Snape, scared by a little competition.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear anymore, but his curiosity kept him attentive. 

“Is that what this is to you? A competition?” 

“No, but I think it is to _you_. I just want to watch Potter dance. I don’t have an ulterior motive. But I can invent one, if it makes you feel better. This is an interesting new choice for someone like him, quite a contrast.” 

Malfoy did not wait for a response. Instead, he sidled past Snape, and began to walk towards where Harry was standing. Snape continued the discussion regardless. “You will not be watching him tonight.” Malfoy didn’t break stride and Harry retreated into a convenient alcove to let him pass. 

The last response from Malfoy struck a hopeful chord in Harry’s chest. “No problem, I’m sure there’ll plenty of other opportunities for that.” 

Harry played over the conversation in his mind, looking for hidden nuances which might provide an insight into the strange behaviour of both his employer and schoolboy nemesis. The initial conclusion that he leapt to was that the people around him were attempting to run his life for him. Again. 

Except that Malfoy didn’t seem to be. Confused, Harry decided to take it at face value, for now. If Harry was honest with himself, he wanted Malfoy to watch him work. His repressed, youthful infatuation liked that idea very much. And Malfoy wanted to watch. So, shrugging off the other, possibly more involved issues at stake, Harry resolved to do just that. If Malfoy returned. 

****

Inevitably, Malfoy did return. Over a week later and at the worst possible moment. The latest in a stream of men was making a bid to receive Harry’s company after hours, but the usual rebuttals were not proving effective. As per the rules, Harry had politely declined and walked away. Undeterred, the man followed in his footsteps, shadowing him throughout the vicinity of the club. The man’s suggestions had become more imaginative with every rejection, and Harry was growing increasingly irritable.

Snape had decided that the restricting charm would be unfeasible to cast on the main body of the club due to the density of the crowd, and this unfortunately did leave patrons with opportunities for groping. It wasn’t ordinarily an issue, but as Harry had been sternly and repeatedly warned regarding the use of magic or physical violence as a means of discouragement, he was left to the mercy of his less-than-extensive public handling skills, the assistance of the bouncers, and burly Bob’s protective instincts - none of which were helping him at the moment. 

The fervent man’s calloused hand briefly succeeded in its explorative mission and connected with Harry’s groin. Forcibly wrenching the offending limb from his body, Harry was contemplating the benefits of abandoning tact in favour of discovering how hard he could punch a client without facing unemployment when salvation appeared in the most unlikely form. 

“Get off him.” 

“I’m dealing with this, Malfoy. Go away,” Harry insisted, ducking an alcohol-scented kiss and prising two hands from his buttocks. This man was taller and broader than Harry, but not overly threatening. Giving no sign that he had heard the instruction, Malfoy sneered as Harry battled in the narrow space between the bar and the brawn. Bob with his hefty and reliable brand of Snape-approved persuasion was not in his usual location, none of the other bartenders seemed to have noticed Harry’s predicament and Harry was not about to call for help like a damsel in distress.

“Quite sure that you don’t require some aid?” 

“Positive,” Harry mumbled as he made another attempt to dodge the man’s wandering hands. Where was the hired muscle? Harry was going to need to thump this bloke in a minute, but his employer would _really_ not deem that to be a good solution from one of his dancers. 

“Of course, if you’re enjoying the attention, I’ll leave you to it.” 

“I’m _not_ enjoying it,” Harry snarled. A decorative bat directly above him rattled ominously on its hook as Harry gave the man another shove. The man reeled back but returned with renewed zeal. Maybe this one would need more than a thump. 

“You are,” the man slurred into Harry’s ear. 

“Just say the word,” Malfoy offered. 

“I’m not helpless. I can handle this.” 

“My confusion is understandable.” 

Harry’s opponent gained precious inches. Sneaking under his waistband, a finger stroked down the crease of Harry’s buttocks. “Get the fuck _off_ me!” 

Malfoy’s hand was around the man’s throat in an instant. “You might want to let go,” snarled Malfoy through gritted teeth, his torso locked in a steady stance as he squeezed. 

All contact with Harry was instantly relinquished. Extracting himself from the small space, Harry contemplated smacking his champion for having the audacity to rescue him. 

“Is there a problem?” 

Snape looked very angry. And Harry couldn’t tell with whom. Glancing from the offending man’s reddening face, to Malfoy, to Snape and back again, Harry’s sense of foreboding grew intensely. But part of him didn’t care. Snape was _late_. So much for that bell that Harry had imagined.

“No problem,” answered Malfoy. Listening to that composed tone, it would have been easy to believe that he didn’t hold a man’s fragile neck in a suffocating grip. 

The owner of the neck in question, however, did not appear to have forgotten. Arms spread wide, the man seemed to be contemplating which would be the wisest course of action to obtain oxygen. Malfoy chose for him. 

“I’m going to let you go now. And you’re going to leave.” 

That seemed an acceptable solution to Harry, no need to protest. But his sense of pride had been slightly dented. Malfoy was absorbed with watching the man slouch towards the exit, rubbing at a bruised neck, but thankfully not creating any further nuisance. After the man had left, Malfoy’s head swivelled back and the exchange began yet again. 

“Dance, Potter?” 

Snape loomed, close and towering. “As before, Mr Potter is not available.” 

Once again, Snape’s intimidation did not appear to be having the desired effect. “Still seems available to me.” 

“Feel free to make another selection.” 

“No.” 

“Another selection, or leave.” 

“I’ll take this one, thanks.” Malfoy tugged lightly at Harry’s upper arm. Harry’s first instinct was to wrench back his limb, but letting irrational desire override good sense, he allowed Malfoy to steer him through a conveniently nearby open door. 

Snape’s growl was long and low. “ _Mr_ Malfoy. I have explained my opinion on this subject.” 

“A hostile corporate takeover can be an ugly thing, Mr Snape,” Malfoy announced as the door closed behind them. 

Harry's mind was reeling to catch up with the swift change in events. “Threatening Snape isn’t a clever idea.” 

“But it’s fun though. The look of horrified shock on his face was worth it.” 

“You’re not really going to, are you?” 

Malfoy paused. “Depends. It might be a lucrative acquisition.” 

“This is… important. To Snape.” 

“He’ll get over it.” 

Harry suddenly remembered who he was speaking to. “Do you actually know anything _about_ corporate takeovers?” 

“Not much. Well, not anything. Stop stressing, Potter. Start undressing.” 

“That’s an obsessive mind you have there.” 

“There’s not a lot else to think about around here. But it’s not my fault. I’ve been brainwashed with the abundance of naked flesh,” Malfoy proclaimed as he settled in the available chair.

**** 

“Harry,” Snape sighed. Harry suspected that he had been the cause of too much sighing from this man recently. “Regarding Mr Malfoy. Explain that incident to me.” 

Regret kicked in. Snape was a good friend and a relatively fair employer, respected by the people in his charge, if not the public. Harry hadn’t deliberately tried to displease him, but Snape’s inflexibility often caused minor rebellions. “He did pay a lot of money.” 

“Not every issue is about money. Why do you think I employed you?” 

“Umm… because you liked the way I dance?” On immediate reflection, that didn’t seem a very plausible reason, at least not at first. “Why did you?” 

“Because I was foolish enough to offer assistance. You wished for a drastically different life, and so I provided the means for that. I recall that you were very insistent upon this fresh start, but now you expect me to calmly accept that you are about to make a mistake which will jeopardise it.” 

“I won’t.”

“I wish I shared your blind faith. But you look tired.” 

Shuffling his aching feet, Harry longed for sleep. But since he did prefer to finish most days without Snape being angry at him, he aimed to lighten the mood. “It was hectic tonight. Happy hour was not your finest plan, by the way. Cheaper drink just makes them grabby.” 

“I could remind you again of the alternative.” 

Harry had heard this before, too frequently. “I don’t want an office job, Severus. I’m happy with what I do.” 

As always, Snape continued with his proposal regardless of Harry’s resistance. “Complicated paperwork can be fascinating. And it is rewarding to interact with clients within a different capacity. There are many other occupations which you could excel at.” 

Picking a stray bit of glitter from his hair, Harry chortled, “You're finally admitting that I might excel at something? Are you feeling okay?” 

“Your customers do appreciate that you conduct your work extremely well,” acknowledged Snape with apparent reluctance. “But there would be less… grabbing involved in another career. And therefore, less drama for myself.” 

“The punters don’t mean any harm. They’re just enthusiastic.” 

“As with the episode involving the gentleman last night? Did enthusiasm excuse his actions?” 

So much for lightening the mood. “That was different.” 

“The exchange of currency does not afford any of them the right to touch you. And I employed you because I wanted you to be here.” 

Harry didn’t comprehend Snape’s point. “I _am_ here.” 

Snape sighed again. “Go home, Harry. Get some rest.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sessions with Malfoy became habitual highlights of Harry’s working week. Snape didn’t attempt further interference and hadn’t even spoken to him for days. Although grateful for the absence of lectures, Harry was feeling distinctly avoided. But reluctant to press the issue, he carried on as normal. 

It had been a busy night. He had lost count of the dances he’d provided, the men he’d pleased. It had been a relief when Malfoy stepped into Harry’s line of vision. 

Pleased to be performing for a regular after all the new faces he’d seen, Harry danced with gusto. And apparently his eagerness had not gone unnoticed. Squirming in his seat, Malfoy had looked poised to ask a question since Harry had begun. Eventually he did. 

“Potter? Can I wank while I watch? Is that allowed?” 

While masturbation was not encouraged, it was also not expressly forbidden by Snape’s extensive rulebook if it was a regular, trusted patron within a private room. It did have to be agreed upon in advance though. Authorised by Snape, for security and safety. Snape didn’t agree for many and Harry was _not_ going to make that request on Malfoy’s behalf.

Malfoy’s cock used to be a source of Harry’s delightful teenage fantasies. Harry wondered whether it was as attractive as he’d envisioned. But Harry didn’t have a death wish, so he sensibly refrained. Dismissing the option entirely, he replied, “No.” 

“How much if _you_ wank?” 

Harry smiled, quietly amused. And largely gratified. “That service is never available.” 

“Never doesn’t really work for me. How about dinner to get us started?” Harry stared. “What? You don’t eat now that you’re a celebrity in the flesh business?” 

“Shut up and watch, Malfoy.” 

“I am watching.” 

“Touch your cock and you’re out.” 

Dinner would be a mistake, but it was only after Malfoy had left that Harry realised that he had forgotten to say no. 

**** 

Harry was relieved to find Snape alone. The club always seemed surreal at this hour, empty and strangely silent. Snape sat at a table in the dimmed light, stern face registering Harry’s presence, softening gradually. 

“A drink, Harry?” 

The bottle in front of him indicated that Snape may already have had quite a few. 

“Sounds good. What’re we drinking?” 

Snape nodded towards shelves of bottled alcohol. “The bar is yours. Choose. Otherwise, there is vodka,” he added, indicating the bottle which rested on the table in front of him. 

Opting for the nearest, Harry poured clear liquid into a conveniently located empty glass. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to do this.” 

“My schedule has not allowed me much opportunity to relax of late.” 

“You work too hard. Try smiling sometimes, it might even suit you.” 

“There is very seldom reason to smile.” 

Harry perched his bum on a red cushioned seat. “Oh, come on, you’re rich! Enjoy your money… spend it!” 

“On what?” 

“Yourself. Buy extravagant, useless items. Just ‘cos you can.” 

Snape tutted in disapproval. “When have you ever known me to do such a trivial thing?” 

“Exactly. It’s well overdue,” Harry observed between sips. “What would you buy?” 

“I purchased a club. A lucrative business.” 

“Do you ever just enjoy it?” 

“My success brings me satisfaction.” 

“Do something that’ll bring you _more_ satisfaction. Pedro’s had his eye on you,” he teased. “Got great visions of his luxurious future, that bloke.” 

An expected sigh. “Harry.” 

“I know, I know… constant professionalism.” 

“You mock me too often.” 

“And you love it,” Harry laughed. 

“Occasionally. But for now, I have urgent business to deal with. I will see you here tomorrow evening. Promptly.” 

“As always.” 

**** 

Malfoy yawned. It was either due to exhaustion, or Harry was losing his touch. In order to determine, he extended an arm and let his forefinger run the length of Malfoy’s torso, collarbone to naval, tracing an invisible line. The responding shudder reaffirmed his faith in the power of nudity. 

“Losing your stamina?” Harry mocked. 

“Have you slept with Snape?” 

Stopping dead, Harry reviewed his previous question. The reply didn’t fit. “What?” 

Malfoy leant forward, propping elbows on knees. “Are you shagging Snape? Are you his?” 

The suggestion was… well, it was ludicrous. “Of course not! What would make you think that?” 

“He’s _very_ opposed to my presence.” 

Standing back, Harry replied, “Snape just thinks about the business. You’re spending a lot of cash, which does help to appease him.” 

Malfoy grinned, not warmly. Harry pondered whether Malfoy ever relaxed adequately to genuinely smile. “Is fraternising with the customers in the workplace not tolerated?” 

That was beside the point. “We’re not fraternising.” 

“But we should be. And he’s not appeased.” 

“He’s my employer. Not my lover or my pimp.” 

“He’s pretty close to pimping, if you ask me.” Malfoy stretched his legs, crossing the ankles, deliberately but lightly colliding with Harry’s bare foot. 

The notion disturbed Harry, but it was only Malfoy’s wild imaginings. “I didn’t ask you.” 

“He’s always lingering around you. Honestly, it’s almost stalking. Take the night off tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at your place, nine o’clock reservations.” 

Not a good idea. From what Harry knew of Malfoy, he was unquestionably interested only in the possibility of free sex. Harry avoided such casual relationships, despite what his unbridled imagination might indicate. But sometimes Harry thought that it might be nice to just give into fantasies, so somehow the refusal didn’t form. Instead, he squashed down his smile and continued. And it didn’t occur to him to wonder how Malfoy knew where his ‘place’ was. 

**** 

The following evening, Harry was absorbed in dazzling a punter with his best lidded gaze. He was not prepared for the voice when it inevitably rumbled over his shoulder. 

“Potter.” 

The client’s attention drifted towards the source of the sound. Harry followed the movement of the man’s eyes as they shifted across, up, and down. And not back to Harry. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned. And immediately understood why his prospect had been so completely diverted. Dressed in what was undoubtedly a costly dark grey suit, Malfoy looked nice. Actually, Malfoy looked _wonderful_. And annoyed. 

Harry tried to camouflage any sign of regret. “Dance, Malfoy?” 

“No. I want to know why I wasted my time tonight.” 

“I didn’t ask you to.” 

Malfoy’s top lip curved up into what was almost another sneer. It didn’t quite manage it. “You didn’t tell me not to.” 

That was fair. “I should’ve told you.” 

The customer beside him was considering them both with interest. Malfoy was considering Harry with contempt. 

“That would’ve been polite.” 

Struck by a desire to make amends, Harry enquired, “Do you… would you like something? Maybe a show on the house?” At the same moment, the customer simultaneously asked Malfoy, “Do you work here?” 

“No.” 

It had not been clear which query Malfoy had answered. 

“That’s a pity,” murmured the punter, clearly presuming that the reply was meant for him. 

Malfoy’s shoulders squared subtly as his head tilted. His cold stare melted as he focussed on the stranger. “Why is that?” 

“I think that you’d be good at it. Very popular with a body like that.” 

Accustomed to the forthrightness which alcohol could afford, Harry was not astounded by the frank observation, but was dismayed as Malfoy leaned sufficiently to bring his body significant inches closer to the other man. Away from Harry. “I don’t need to charge for my services. I tend to provide them for free, to the right people.” 

“And how do you decide who those people are?” 

“I have an effective screening process.” 

“Care to show me?” 

Excluded from the switch in conversation, a feeling suspiciously like jealousy was tingling in Harry’s stomach. An unexpected flash of unwelcome emotion. 

“I might.” 

“I’d like to see it.” 

“We could get a—” 

Harry’s hand was out and acting on its own volition, settling on Malfoy’s upper arm before the completion of the sentence. But the sidelong smirk told him that he had reacted just as Malfoy had intended him to. Harry wasn’t quite sure why he had. 

Malfoy didn’t dislodge Harry’s grasp during his next words to Harry’s client. “Go and find another man to drool over. I’m busy.” 

“But I—” 

“Go.” 

Malfoy’s tone did not invite further discussion. The man obediently retreated into the crowd. Harry only realised how close he was standing to Malfoy when a pert nose almost nudged his. 

“You're so predictable, Potter.” 

At a loss to explain his actions, Harry mumbled, “What do you expect? I don’t know what… this is.” 

“This…” Malfoy’s lips parted, inches from Harry’s. Their mouths connected, for the briefest of light, teasing seconds. “…is what this is. If you want it.” 

Malfoy’s shallow breaths carried scents of sweetly tempting coffee, maybe chocolate. But Harry hesitated, pulled back. Snape would _kill_ him if he kissed a client. Especially Malfoy. “I don’t know.” 

“So decisive… if I was to ask you to dinner again, would you actually come?” 

“I might.” 

“Not good enough.” 

That pale face wasn’t flawless; it still showed echoes of the cruel haughtiness which Harry had despised. But an apparent tinge of uncertainty within the grey eyes was a crack in the mask, a mark of humanity. Malfoy’s lips were thin, sharp. And Harry really wanted to kiss them. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Then _you_ arrange it. And you’re paying. Now, you mentioned something about a free show?” 

That aloof expression was daring Harry to rescind the offer, but Harry wasn’t someone who ever reneged. 

It took only a short walk to place them both back in their respective positions. Harry tugged at his scrap of a t-shirt, but Malfoy’s brusque interruption notified him of other plans. 

“Don’t undress.” 

“Changed your mind?” 

“I have a better idea. Sit on my lap.” 

Harry let the fabric fall back to his chest. “Fully clothed, remember?” 

“I don’t tend to forget minor details. Your version of fully clothed will be perfectly acceptable. Those… trousers are barely decent.” 

Frayed and worn in _all_ the right places, the formfitting jeans were always a popular choice with the punters. Hell’s version of the casual boy next door. Judging by the tongue peeking out of Malfoy’s mouth, he also appreciated the attire.

“Then sit still.” 

Harry contemplated Malfoy’s lap. He strolled to stand within arm’s reach and turned, presenting his back and arse for intimate viewing. Naturally, Harry had done this before, but the act was not something that he often enjoyed. This was a more personal invasion of space than he preferred, but anxious not to appear too hesitant, he bent at the knees to begin a slow descent. 

Apprehensive as he was, he would not have predicted that it would be caution from Malfoy which would hinder him, but a sudden instruction stopped him instantly. 

“Wait. Are you doing this as some kind of twisted act of contrition? For tonight?” 

Harry had been, but only partly. He pivoted his head to reply, “Would it matter if I was? I usually do this for money, after all.” 

“I’m trying to pretend otherwise right now, Potter.” 

Harry didn’t let himself ponder why that might be. “Would you rather I didn’t do this?” 

Malfoy’s headshake granted permission to continue. Letting his weight rest upon the front of Malfoy’s legs, Harry ignored his thumping heartbeat and slid backwards to settle in the groove which joined Malfoy’s thighs to hips. Harry hadn’t expected Malfoy to be so hard already. Not dwelling on the thrill which the discovery caused, he shimmied, getting comfortable. 

Even now, Malfoy had a question. “Can I touch you during this?” 

“You can put your hands on my hips. That’s all, though.” 

Palms hovered just above the slope of Harry’s hips. “Am I going to get another shock?” 

“Not if I don’t want you to.” 

A doubtful eyebrow quirked at him. “You’ve yet to convince me that might not be your plan.” 

“Oh, for… here,” Harry huffed, pushing both hands down onto the denim before he began to move. 

Spreading his legs for better balance, Harry created a gradual rhythm. Privately gauging the length against his cleft, he was captivated, wriggling his arse from side to side, back and forth, to the side again, exploring the size and shape… not entirely thrusting, but giving the simplest pleasure he could while still calling it dancing. 

During earlier evenings, he had become quite accustomed to the tiny hitches and gasps which emitted from Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy obviously endeavoured to keep his breathing level and controlled during moments of excitement but Malfoy, Harry had long since noted, was not very good at it. Listening to the changing pattern of inhalations, Harry’s confidence steadily increased. Relaxing, he altered the angle and moved his torso to lie upon Malfoy’s warm chest, tilting his head back and writhing his spine and hips to a silent beat, taking careful note of the telling noises from behind him. 

Soon, Harry’s thighs were trembling, and not only from the effort required to maintain the awkward pose. When Harry unexpectedly peeled their bodies apart, Malfoy’s hands clutched at the jeans, but Harry brushed them off as he stood. Facing Malfoy and seeing disappointment, he grinned, stood to the side of the chair and swung a denim clad leg over Malfoy’s thighs before lowering again into a firmly seated straddle that Harry was in complete control of. Harry grasped the topmost edge of the chair’s back and tugged himself closer, watching grey eyes widen with anticipation as their erections met. Perceptible arousal was an optional, but not expected part of this task. Harry’s cock was not usually a very excited participant during lap dances but was eager to play with Malfoy. 

In a face-to-face position, Harry would normally tuck his head into a convenient shoulder and hide as he danced, but tonight he wanted to watch. Harry blatantly studied Malfoy’s dilated pupils, his slackening jaw, the flutters of blond eyelashes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as Harry increased the pace and pressure. 

Arousal urging him to act on a whim, Harry nudged at Malfoy’s clenching hands. Perhaps anticipating a painful reprimand, Malfoy immediately released his grip, but Harry took gentle hold of his wrists, tugging lightly. Malfoy’s harsh pants moved up a distinct notch as fingers connected with the mounds of Harry’s arse. Harry admired the beautiful pale throat as his dance turned to rocking, imagining how the blossoming sheen of sweat above the white collar would taste. 

Malfoy’s breathing was erratic now. As a moan escaped Harry, he knew he was pushing this too far. He should stop; this was past the boundaries of professionalism. But he didn’t want to. 

Another question from Malfoy killed the moment. “Can I… come?” 

Damn Malfoy. No other client had ever bothered to ask Harry that question. Harry was not permitted to allow orgasms when seated on a client's lap; in fact, he had needed to decisively prevent them on occasions with insistent customers. But due to his current craving, he had been prepared to overlook that, just this once. Maybe he could have called it an accident, but since the subject had been highlighted, the opportunity to exploit that scarcely plausible excuse was gone. 

Sighing with frustration, Harry replied, “No.” 

He refused to believe that the expression on Malfoy’s face was anything other than disappointment. “If… you don’t want me to - then you really… _need_ to stop doing that.” 

Scooting backwards, Harry instantly provided badly needed space, but he was going to need some time to compose himself before he attempted to stand. Eyes closed, hissing in air through his nose, Malfoy was visibly experiencing a similar difficulty. 

After a few long, steadying minutes, Harry felt calmer, but gutted. As Malfoy opened his eyes to regard him, he suspected that another question was imminent. He wasn’t wrong. 

“Why do you do this?” 

Harry had a standard reply for queries such as this. He stated it now. “It pays well.” 

“You have plenty of money.” A gently restraining hold kept Harry in place when he attempted to stand. Harry allowed it. “Or at least, you did… so that seems a transparently false reason.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m curious. This… all this, just doesn’t quite fit with my previous impression of you.” 

“Previous impressions can also be transparently false.” Malfoy’s snort of laughter shook his body, jostling Harry on his perch, but the lack of maliciousness in the sound inspired a little honesty. “I wanted to be someone different.” 

“Clearly you have issues, Potter.” At Harry’s glare, Malfoy placated, “But that’s fine. We all have our issues.” 

Harry didn’t have any desire to explore them just now. Changing the topic of discussion, he remarked, “I’ve rumpled your suit.” 

“So, you have. This is Armani, you know.” 

“How very Muggle of you, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy laughed and inexplicably, Harry’s distrust melted just a little bit more. 

**** 

The food was outrageously expensive. Harry had eventually given up trying to decipher the menu and had selected his meal by random pointing, much to Malfoy’s disgust. Or it may have been amusement. A fleeting wish to impress Malfoy had encouraged Harry to select this restaurant but on reflection, it may not have been the wisest choice. Harry steeled himself for a very long evening of endurance. 

But the hours didn’t drag by so horribly. Malfoy was even almost nice. Well, not nice. But definitely funny. And more than slightly sexy, but that was the wine’s fault. He wasn’t the only one who noticed Malfoy’s charms; by the time that the first course arrived, Harry had lost count of the waitresses and waiters that had fawned over his date. Since Harry wasn’t planning to fawn, he didn’t object to anyone else doing so. But Harry wanted Malfoy more with every sly grin and glass of wine.

Malfoy retained many of the qualities which had always incensed Harry and some of Malfoy’s viewpoints and priorities were still slightly skewed, but Harry was surprised by how much he enjoyed his company. During the course of the evening, their banter turned to interesting debates and eventually to effortless, friendly conversation. 

Harry took note of the small moments. Little things which could so easily go unnoticed. The moment when he first returned Malfoy’s cackle with a real, relaxed laugh of his own. The instant when the back of Malfoy’s hand, in the midst of a disparaging gesture, brushed against Harry’s arm. And naturally, the moment when Harry allowed himself that kiss. A gradual slide of lips against lips, tongues flicking playfully at first before delving deeper. 

But stripper by trade or not, Harry didn’t put out on a first date. And Malfoy, in contrast to Harry’s impression of him, didn’t press the issue. Or appear in any rush for physical gratification further than kissing. 

Harry might have thought that was an indication of waning interest, except for the continuance of regular dates which Malfoy invariably arranged. 

**** 

Malfoy had not requested a private dance since the first dinner, but he was still often to be found in the club, quietly viewing the public shows. Harry hadn’t previously imagined the interesting and arousing spectacle which was silent heckling until Malfoy had begun to shake his head in critique of certain moves and twirled a suggestive finger from the edge of the stage, spurring Harry onto greater, more flexible and inventive positions. 

But Harry had also started to notice something else: Severus _did_ linger. Maybe Harry merely hadn’t noticed before, but Snape was _everywhere_. Wherever Harry was, so was Snape. Hovering by the stage, camouflaged in shadow. At the end of the bar when Harry was drinking or entertaining. Outside the locker room door when Harry was dressing. There was also an unfortunate incident in the bathroom. Harry couldn’t urinate in the club for days after that. 

But Harry was getting paranoid. _Malfoy_ was making Harry paranoid. There was nothing wrong, nothing unusual, no weird behaviour. People looked at Harry’s cock every night, it was a public commodity. But sometimes Harry’s boss seemed to be peering extremely closely. 

It was the night when Harry didn’t strip that he realised how dire his problem had become. Harry had really not wanted to undress, even to the comparatively modest degree that his public shows required. His finale that evening was a great deal more modest than his audience had become accustomed to. The way Snape had been looking at him was… different. Not dissimilar to any other patron in the club, but different from how Harry thought _Snape_ should be looking. Snape had predictably disapproved of Harry’s change in routine and demanded an encore to satisfy the clientele. Harry initially refused, but he had little excuse not to provide. He was a marketable product, but so were many others within the club. Marcus, for instance, had given it his all on the stage that same night: writhing, stretching, a palatable gourmet of visual sex - but Snape was never to be found lurking in the shadows near him. Or any of the other employees. 

But still, Harry danced every evening and met Draco after hours most nights, just to talk and indulge in kisses. And he tried not to worry. 

**** 

Harry rested against the bar in Hell, participating in pleasant, flirting chatter with another prospective client until the man stuttered hasty excuses and initiated a rapid retreat. As an irate figure approached, the reason for the departure was quickly clarified. The man advanced towards a different dancer further up the bar, and Harry ground his jaw in frustration. 

“You are meant to be _working_ , Potter.” 

“I _was_ working. I was securing my next private client!” 

“Not Mr Malfoy? Perhaps your boyfriend is not the jealous type?” 

Lovers did not add to the appeal of strippers, therefore it was required to keep any relationships hidden. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he _did_ have a boyfriend now, but unsure how he felt about the liaison he hadn’t seen fit to inform Snape, friend or not. 

Snape’s aggressive stance inspired denial. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“No? He appears to be under that illusion. I see everything, notice every detail. You, however, do not.” 

It was very fast. Snape’s mouth was unexpectedly close. Far too close. Harry could smell alcohol between those thin, parted lips as Snape’s torso pressed against his. Instinctively, Harry darted to the side, seeking safety, but Snape’s fist closed tight around his wrist and yanked him back, smacking Harry's spine painfully against the bar and drawing a startled yelp from Harry's mouth.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Bob take a step towards them but falter, clearly unsure of his role when it was the boss who had broken club rules.

Tugging his arm, Harry broke the hold. Smiling in reassurance at Bob but nonetheless anxious, he spoke carefully and quietly. “What’re you doing?” 

“Making a request. Dance for me.” 

“I… don’t think I should.” 

“What you _should_ do is precisely whatever I demand. I may conduct appraisals at any time. It is clearly explained in your contract. I have arranged an empty room. After you.” 

Reluctantly, Harry led. Snape followed, but this wasn’t the typical routine. Or the typical Snape. Hovering uncertainly in the centre of the room, Harry found himself inexplicably in unknown territory. 

Snape took the client’s place. Sat and expectantly waited. Harry hadn’t a clue what to do next. Nervous, he decided to proceed as normal. Or try. 

“Remove all garments first. It is essential that I examine the product unhindered.” Harry didn’t recall reading that detail in his contract. “Unless you would prefer not to work here.” 

This hostility wasn’t what Harry had come to expect from Snape. Years ago, in a different place certainly, but not now. Not here. Reminding himself of his chosen trade and despite serious misgivings, he complied. Snape had seen everything Harry had to offer before, but the process of peeling clothing from skin seemed to take longer than usual. Feeling exposed and hesitant, Harry’s trembling hands fumbled over the button which secured his waistband, the last barrier of protection. He couldn’t do this, not for Snape. 

Control had slipped from Harry. For the first time, he was not directing an encounter in one of these rooms. And it sickened him. He felt vulnerable, cornered, cheap and trapped. And no-one would leap to his assistance. Snape was the owner; he could essentially do whatever he wanted and nobody would stop him. But as the one person whom Harry had truly depended on, someone who had witnessed him at his lowest and helped him through, Harry had trusted that Snape would never press that advantage. Harry was a fucking fool. They all only wanted this. 

He didn’t dance. Instead, he closed his eyes as he concentrated on his internal struggle. Harry didn’t know how much time he had stood motionless with his hands on his waistband before he jumped at the sound of a cough from close beside him. He hadn’t even heard Snape move. 

“Harry.” 

Harry let his arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” 

“The apology should be mine.” 

Stunned, Harry opened his eyes. He froze. All other thoughts vanished as his gaze locked on Snape’s face. The expression he saw there was one of regret, maybe sadness and… something else, which Harry did not want to acknowledge. 

Harry forced a word through his constricted throat. “Severus?” 

“Do you know what I had hoped for?” 

Harry replied carefully. “I don’t, no.” 

“It is… a strenuous task. Observing as Draco labours to ensure my failure.” 

“Draco isn’t labouring to ensure anything.” 

“Of course, he is. The only difference is that he has made his intentions clear and I have not.” 

Harry prayed that Snape was not about to follow in Malfoy’s footsteps. “I don’t understand,” he whispered, but he was beginning to comprehend. 

Snape’s next words only served to confirm Harry’s worst suspicions. “Am I so unappealing?”

Harry didn’t know what to say, how to express this. How _wrong_ it felt. But he attempted to placate. “We’re friends, Severus.” 

“You and I?” Harry nodded. “That was not… my intention. I had… wished for more.” 

“I didn’t want anything more than that.” 

Snape’s open expression noticeably shuttered. The change was abrupt and unnerving at such close range. 

“It is painfully obvious that you would prefer the company of Mr Malfoy. Or anyone else. But as a whore within this establishment, that should not present a problem.” 

At that, Harry found a stronger voice. “I am _not_ a whore.” 

“Do not disillusion yourself.” 

Harry hadn’t thought he was disillusioned. Maybe he was. Breathing heavily, trying to keep up with the recent abrupt changes in Snape’s persona, Harry asked, “Am I sacked?” 

“Not unless you wish to be. However, if you service Mr Malfoy again, you will not continue in my employ.” 

Anger was belated but blossomed strongly. “You’d take away everything I’ve worked for over _that_? Over him?” 

“Everything _I’ve_ worked for, Potter.” 

The door didn’t slam, Snape closed it carefully. Harry felt that a sharp thud would have added to the air of finality. With minimal effort, Snape had used some form of twisted, petty revenge or jealousy to turn everything that Harry had achieved here into something filthy and abhorrent - which it had likely always been in many people’s view but had never been for Harry. 

Confronted with this new awareness, Harry’s cherished confidence dwindled. 

**** 

Ignoring Bob’s concerned glances, Harry concentrated on downing the contents of his glass and rebuilding enough self-assurance to mount the stage. The drink wasn’t helping, was only making things worse. Harry was amazed that Snape wasn’t already over here to berate him some more. An occasional drink on the job was fine; the amount which Harry had consumed was not. He was surprised that Bob had even provided them. Or maybe that wasn’t so unexpected, considering Harry and Snape's interaction at the bar.

Malfoy’s timing remained impeccable. 

“Dance, Potter?” 

It was a question in jest, Harry knew that. But in a rash, furious instant, he made an important decision. “Why not?” he snapped, shoving himself away from the bar. Malfoy started a sudden movement which Harry suspected had been meant to halt him but aborted the motion. Instead, Malfoy stepped to the side, a frown creasing his brow as he hesitantly began to follow. 

Soon Harry stood in front of a chair, too shocked by his resolution, too mortified to shed clothing, too disillusioned to dance. 

The tequila was fogging his mind, but nerves were tightening his chest; a knot of want versus fear, with a deluge of self-hate. It was absurd. This was the new life he’d chosen. Who he _was_. But maybe Harry could be someone else if he wanted. Or he could just be himself, the rest of the world be damned. Whoever he turned out to be. The realisation helped to stem the faint threat of tears before they escaped to humiliate him more thoroughly than he already was. 

Malfoy didn’t sit. 

Harry crossed the distance between them, shedding clothes. Naked was how they wanted him, therefore naked was how he would be. It would certainly make this easier. Harry’s tongue wet his lips in reckless invitation. He didn’t want to dance anymore, but he still wanted this. “I’m handing in my resignation. Fuck me.” 

When he reached Malfoy, all clothing successfully discarded, strong hands curved around Harry’s wrists. A hold so different from Snape’s, this one meant to lightly restrain but not to hurt, steered Harry backwards until his back gently met a wall behind him. As Malfoy released Harry's wrists, he frowned as if he had just remembered something. 

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.” 

Harry chuckled. “I disabled the safety charm a while ago. Just for you.” Snape didn’t notice everything after all. 

“Do you think he’s watching us?” 

“Probably… I don’t care. Let him watch.” 

Malfoy’s lips twitched mischievously. “Are you intending to bill me?” 

“This is for free.” Wrapping his arms around Malfoy's neck, Harry raised one leg, then the other, thighs intent on clutching Malfoy’s waist, but hands pushed down on his hips, directing him back to the ground. 

Harry’s head dipped forward as his feet hit the floor and his arms fell heavily to his sides. He stifled a sigh. Well, that answered that. What he had concluded was patience was really disinterest. But Malfoy had not let go of Harry’s hips. The nearby body heat didn’t fade because Malfoy didn’t step back. 

Exhalations ruffled Harry’s hair as Draco spoke. “Something’s wrong.” 

“With what?” The only wrong thing here was Harry’s foolishness. 

“With you.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

A nudge under Harry’s chin raised him to meet Malfoy’s curious gaze. “As a stripper, you have so many restrictions on what you’ll do or allow… and before you interrupt, I know that not all of the other employees here are as diligent about Snape’s precious rules. Even as a… boyfriend, you don’t want to rush into sex. Not that I’d want you to. But now you want me to fuck you? _Here_?” 

“It’s what I do.” 

“This isn’t what you do, Harry. I’ve seen enough to know that.” 

Harry’s anger found a new, convenient target. “But you kept… keep coming back. _Why_?” 

“Because I wanted to. And no-one tells me what to do. Although, Snape has tried very hard to get rid of me.” 

Harry believed that was true. It didn’t reduce his anger. “You wanted me just because Snape said you couldn’t have me?” 

“Yes. At first.” 

“This was nothing more than that?” Harry should be pushing Malfoy away, leaving. But although Malfoy was not restraining him, it was proving difficult to move. 

“Did you want it to be more?” 

Tending another internal wound, Harry aimed for defiance. “No.” 

“That’s… disappointing.” Disappointment was definitely the effect that Harry was having on people lately. “Do you think that I ask all the strippers I meet to accompany me to dinner?” 

Defiance didn’t last long. “What other strippers?” 

“None.” Malfoy’s smile looked refreshingly genuine. “Not anymore.” 

Maybe rash decisions weren’t so terrible. Harry embraced his. But considering how much he had already wanted exactly this; it suddenly didn’t seem reckless at all. “So, fuck me.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Harry hadn’t imagined that Malfoy would be so tough to shag. “Yes.” 

“Are we fraternising in the workplace now, Potter?” 

“We certainly are.” 

Malfoy paused only to unbuckle his belt before he pulled Harry close. 

Words seemed redundant after that, which was fortunate, since Harry’s mouth was full of an extra helping of tongue. 

**** 

It was hardly a surprise to see Snape guarding the door to the locker room. But no matter, a swift pull of his sweater over his head and Harry was done. 

“You fucked him.” 

Sweaty, damp and marked with the scent of sex, it would be difficult to deny it, even if Harry had wanted to. 

“I did. I’ve packed up my belongings. Don’t worry, I won’t be back.” 

Snape’s face didn’t insinuate emotion. “There will be no severance pay in light of this breach of contract.” 

“Wouldn’t expect it,” Harry assured, collecting his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. “You can go back to the peaceful, smooth running of your club.” 

He had almost made it outside before Snape spoke from behind him. “Did you think I wanted peace?” 

Harry paused and pivoted, inquisitive. “I wouldn’t know.” Of course, Snape didn’t react to the implied question. And Harry wasn’t going to wait around for long. 

“It’s of little importance now. You’ve made your choice.” 

“I wasn’t aware that I had.” 

Harry waited, let Snape approach. “Mr Malfoy, Harry?” 

“You think that I’ve chosen him?” 

“Haven't you?” 

Snape looked weary. Harry tried to find sympathy, found candour instead. “No. I might, though. What I’ve chosen is not to work here anymore. But you decided that for me.” Harry saw a fleeting glimpse of concern, debated whether he should say more, but Snape decided that for him as well. 

The dark eyes shifted, studied a patch of grime on the door frame. “That is… regretful, but inconsequential.” 

Harry could stand here forever, and Severus Snape might never be completely honest. He was grateful for that.

“I’m going now.” 

“He’s waiting.” 

Harry regarded Snape silently for a moment before turning back towards the door. 

“I know.”


End file.
